Dir - Carlos Aured
It is amusing that a guy who became synonymous with portraying a wolfman more than any other actor often times did his best work without all the bestial, hairy make-up on him. Horror Rises from the Tomb is a rightfully beloved stand-out in writer/star Paul Naschy's filmography since it emphasizes his strengths while simultaneously making the questionable limitations in his movies all the more fun. The bloody organs look like, (and maybe are), BBQ chicken, Naschy plays a triple role where two of his characters are of course irresistible to women, and wonderful use is made out of the limited production values to appease sleaze, gore, and atmospheric horror fans alike. Plot-wise, this is yet another variation of the ole "condemned practitioners of evil vowing revenge on their persecutor's decedents" gag, but Naschy and Helga Line's bad guys are an interesting tweak on the vampire, being undead Satanists who eat people's hearts yet are repelled by a silver talisman. Also, zombies show up because you damn right they do.
(1945)
Dir - Alberto Cavalcanti/Charles Crichton/Robert Hamer/Basil Dearden
Though horror films were largely non-existent in England following the immediate aftermath of World War II, Ealing Studios still managed to break new ground in the genre with an anthology movie that set the template for many to come. Dead of Night brings together four directors who rarely if at all did anything in horror before or again, bringing to life as many stories and a wrap-around segment from various source materials. This formula would be utilized most directly in Amicus' series of omnibus films over two decades later and besides the goofy "The Golfer's Story", each segment delivers some memorable chills. "The Christmas Party" has the ghost of a child making an appearance, "The Haunted Mirror" is self-explanatory", and the most famous sequence "The Ventriloquist's Dummy" would prove influential in solidifying the staple of how unsettling creepy dolls are. The linking story is the most surreal and hits a fevered pitch near the end, sending this off on a trippy high note that makes the phrase "room for one more" yet another thing that would show up elsewhere, most notably of course when Homer Simpson said it.
(1936)
Dir - Lambert Hillyer
It took Universal five years to release a sequel to their initial sound era horror film Dracula and the resulting Dracula's Daughter finds an ideal way to bypass Béla Lugosi not returning. The movie was rushed into production after MGM was guaranteed the rights to Bram Stoker's source material "Dracula's Guest" if Universal did not get a product out on the quick. This actually bares no similarities to Stoker's short story though and if anything, it takes more inspiration from Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's 1872 Gothic novel Carmilla. Despite this being a hasty project though, it still was ahead of its time in some respects. Naturally, the title character is female and this was the first instance where a cinematic vampire had a forlorn demeanor. Gloria Holden longs for death and laments the fact that she has to survive on the blood of the living due to her inherited family curse, plus she allures female victims which gives the movie a lesbian seduction scene that was taboo for an era that had just begun enforcing the Production Code two years prior. Director Lambert Hillyer sprinkles in more humor than in Tod Browning's original, but the tone is more sombre, making this a unique follow-up to its monumental predecessor.
(1945)
Dir - Robert Wise
The best of the Val Lewton-produced horror films for RKO Pictures, The Body Snatcher also represents that last time that Boris Karloff and Béla Lugosi would share the screen together.T heir final confrontation here is a memorable one, staring each other down in front of a fireplace where things are bound to end badly for at least one of them. Lugosi was delegated to the smaller role, but Karloff gets arguably the meatiest one of his career as a grave-robbing low-life that sells all-too-fresh corpses to Henry Daniell's cocksure doctor whose good intentions are fueled by ambition and moral dubiousness. One of the earliest works from director Robert Wise, he and cinematographer Robert De Grasse maintain a gloomy atmosphere for the period setting, all in a story that questions just how far is too far to go in the advancement of science. All the while, Karloff charmingly torments everyone around him until the bitter end when Daniell finally cracks under the psychological torment of his questionable deeds.
(1980)
Dir - John Carpenter
For his theatrical follow-up to the surprise success of Halloween, John Carpenter stuck with both horror and Jamie Lee Curtis in The Fog; the best "creepy dead pirates come back for revenge" movie ever made, not counting Garfield's Halloween Adventure of course. Set and partially shot in a seaside village in Northern California, Carpenter's command of eerie atmosphere is unrelenting here. The fog of the title becomes an ominous presence as it slowly itches its way towards the fictional Antonio Bay, eventually overrunning a lighthouse, people's homes, and the local church where we have our final undead stand-off. Along with Curtis, genre heavyweights Tom Atkins, Adrienne Barbeau, Janet Leigh, and a handful of other Carpenter regulars, (including the director himself in a cameo), are all on board, plus the supernaturally-charged bad guys look as striking as the one's in Amando de Ossorio's Blind Dead series. Thankfully though, this is a better movie than any of Ossorio's.
(1985)
Dir - Stuart Gordon
Director Stuart Gordon delivered a beloved piece of ridiculous, contemporary Lovecraftian mayhem right out of the gate with his over-the-top debut Re-Animator. Based loosely on the 1922 novelette "Herbert Wise - Reanimator", Gordon upholds a wacky tone where Jeffrey Combs, (in an eccentric and star-making turn), stops at no textbook rules or moral standards in his quest to revitalize dead tissue. In such a quest, neon-green goo is shot into body after body, ravenous zombies spring to life as if they are jacked-up on gallons of Adderall, and most infamously, poor Barbara Crampton, (also in a star-making turn), gets all of her clothes taken off while David Gale's decapitated head just about does the unspeakable between her legs. Originally devised as a stage production, Gordon and producer Brian Yuzna got it done as a full-length and they pull no punches with its outrageous use of hilarious gore and gasp-worthy set pieces.
(1992)
Dir - Lesley Manning
Overall:
A legendary BBC1 mockumentary that pulled an Orson Welles War of the Worlds gag on its audience, Ghostwatch made headlines for its day yet stands up just as strong all of these decades later. One of the best works in quasi-found footage, it is part of the BBC's Screen One anthology series, presented as a live program with actual television personalities playing themselves and a call-in number to boot. Airing on Halloween night in 1992, many viewers were allegedly bamboozled into thinking that they were watching actual supernatural activity go down on screen, such activity inevitably overtaking the very studio where Michael Parkinson is trying to retain a level of professionalism. Taking inspiration from the infamous Enfield poltergeist incident, wonderful detail was put into the production to enhance authenticity and the results as as chilling as such a cinematically unconventional framework can produce.
(1977)
Dir - Nobuhiko Obayashi
On the short list of the most insane horror, (or anything), movies ever made, Nobuhiko Obayashi's cartoonishly otherworldly debut Housu is an outrageous bit of oddness like no other. Obayashi collaborated with his young daughter on a series of ideas to include in a film that was originally commissioned to cash-in on the success of Stephen Spielberg's Jaws of all things. Left unmade for a number of years, (during which time Obayashi continued to promote it and even released a soundtrack album without a single shot being filmed), the project eventually went underway with an indescribable tone of free-flowing absurdity. An incessant whimsical musical score, possessed furniture, tween girls with fun nicknames dying outrageous deaths, underwater nudity, surreal images that are right out of either a kid's nightmares or their playful fantasies, plus a severed head biting a girl's ass and another girl's detached legs doing kung-fu; there are so many wacky layers that repeat viewings are both a necessary and welcome endeavor.
(1973)
Dir - Willard Huyck/Gloria Katz
A unique entry in the New Hollywood era, Messiah of Evil comes from the American Zoetrope husband/wife duo of Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz, both of whom wrote, produced, and directed this bizarre tale about a California coastal town falling under the spell of a prophesy where the moon will turn blood red and a "dark stranger" shall reign unwholesomeness upon the world. The tone is equally surreal and chilling, with striking visuals and set design from a beachfront house decorated with sinister pop art, to townsfolk turning into zombie-like hordes that are sometimes shown in silhouette, to bleeding eyeballs, to a weird albino guy nonchalantly eating a live rat. Both a supermarket and a movie theater get besieged by possessed townsfolk, and the whole thing has a bohemian by-way-of Lovecraftian eeriness to it. It a shame that Huyck and Katz made so few films in general, let alone horror ones, as their work here is as exceptional as it is strange.
(2013)
Dir - Elliot Goldner
Found footage is a tricky sub-genre to pull-off since on the one hand it enhances verisimilitude more than any conventional movie could, yet on the other hand such "realism" can be shattered by a laundry list of faux pases on the filmmaker's parts. Writer/director Elliot Goldner's lone full-length The Borderlands, (Final Prayer), might be the best example where the technicalities of everything being captured on camera is explained in an air-tight manner. Tasked with documenting everything, a tech expert, a Religious Brother, and a Father are sent to a recently-reopened and ancient church in the remote Devon countryside that is experiencing inexplicably creepy things. Needless to say, the authenticity of such events are proven as everything from curious poltergeist activity, to sinister noises, to blink-and-you'll-miss-them flashes, to odd behavior are all caught in the lens. Plus, this easily has one of the best horror endings of all time, which affords the movie its one liberty in making us question how the footage was ever recovered in the first place. When the results are this delightfully unsettling though, all is forgiven.
(1972)
Dir - Eugenio Martín
An unassuming bit of Euro-horror on paper, Horror Express boasts an ideal and international cast, plus has a wild popcorn-munching charm that elevates it over nearly all of its contemporaries. A Spanish/British co-production that was shot in Madrid and allegedly concocted to make use out of an already-available train set, the story takes some wobbly inspiration from John W. Campbell's 1938 novella Who Goes There?, (the same source for The Thing from Another World and the 1982 John Carpenter remake), with the claustrophobic setting switched from an Antarctica outpost to the Trans-Siberian Railway. Passengers get picked off, a monk who looks suspiciously like Paul Naschy goes full-on wacky, and Telly Savalas shows up while Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing lock-horns yet again as allies this time. The extraterrestrial Big Foot design is primitive, but the way that it makes its victims eyes white-over while oozing blood is nifty, plus ghastly moments come at a diligent pace.
(1997)
Dir - Kiyoshi Kurosawa
This marked the turning point for Japanese filmmaker Kiyoshi Kurosawa; a man who has worked steadily though not exclusively in the horror genre and who also has one of the most unique stylistic voices in that genre. Cure was Kurosawa's first film to solidify his now consistently low-key tone. There is minimal incidental music, the pacing is slow and mannered, and the film's intensity thrives on the frustrating ambiguity that its plot relentlessly adheres to. Kurosawa regular Kōji Hashimoto plays a detective who gradually becomes enraged at the aloof mannerisms of Masato Hagiwara; a man who is suffering from acute memory loss and/or is in possession of some supernatural hypnotism power that gradually works its mojo on whomever he comes in contact with. Wisely, few if any details are explained, which allows for the audience to share the vexation in the obtuse narrative, just at the universe here seems doomed to fall under such a nebulous spell.
(1922)
Dir - F.W. Murnau
Another paramount work in German Expressionism and the best of such silent films to be in horror genre, F.W. Murnau's landmark Nosferatu:A Symphony of Horror is also the first screen interpretation of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Being an unauthorized adaptation, Stoker's widow famously and successfully sued the production company where all of the copies were ordered to be destroyed, (thankfully, that did not happen), and one can read antisemitic influences into the narrative where a rat-faced foreigner brings a plague unto German soil, but to dismiss the film on these merits is to do oneself a disservice. Over a century later, Max Schreck's legendary portrayal as the title vamp is still one of the most striking, depicting the undead as a literal monster who could never pass as human yet somehow manages to, at least in the first act. Fritz Arno Wagner and Günther Krampf cinematography helps create an endless stream of memorable and foreboding images, plus this was further influential for providing the first instance, (at least cinematically), where sunlight was proven to be deadly to vampires.
(1932)
Dir - James Whale
Director James Whale's second horror movie after the game-changer Frankenstein was the adaptation of J. B. Priestley's 1928 novel Benighted, here titled The Old Dark House for obvious reasons. Countless whodunits would be set in such an "old dark house" over the decades and the phrase already pertained to its own sub-genre since Universal's The Cat and the Canary arrived five years prior. This is the ultimate representation of the motif where several likeable saps are held up in a spacious and creepy abode during a dark and stormy night and dubious things are going on that pertain to the eccentric family that is living there. An all-star cast including a still-mute Boris Karloff, Melvyn Douglas, Gloria Stuart, Ernest Thesiger, and a new-to-Hollywood Charles Laughton do wonderful tongue-in-cheek work here, plus Whale maintains a sly and macabre tone accordingly. No one ever enunciated the word "potato" so unwholesomely as Thesiger does here, per example.
(2009)
Dir - Jaume Balagueró/Paco Plaza
Sequels are hard and superior sequels are rare, but rarer and harder still is a superior sequel to an already great film that also reinvents the alluded-to mythology of its predecessor. Enter Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza's [•REC]²; an exceptional work in found footage that takes a bold turn by shifting its rabid zombie virus premise into straight-up supernatural terrain. Balagueró and Plaza knew that merely rehashing their previous film would be both redundant and underwhelming, so even though they pick up the story immediately where the last one left off, they find an ingenious and unsettling way to up the stakes. The set pieces are still intense, the tone is still dire, and the monsters are as relentless as ever, putting the viewer in the POV seat the entire time. The writer/director team would split up the series after this, (each making their own solo sequel to less satisfactory degrees), and sadly they have yet to work together again as of this writing, but they pulled-off another wild, violent, and extreme nightmare when given the chance to here.
(2024)
Dir - Jane Schoenbrun
A remarkable follow-up to a remarkable debut, Jane Schoenbrun's I Saw the TV Glow expands upon the themes that lurked underneath the surface in We're All Going to the World's Fair with a much richer pallet to utilize. Not only is Schoenbrun's voice a refreshing one where such things as sexual orientation and gender identity and dysphoria are rarely touched upon in the genre, but their sophomore effort casts a much broader net than just that. In its two troubled and aloof characters, Schoenbrun is channeling the type of frustration in being able to lead an authentic life when stuck in an unnurturing environment for such a thing. At the same time though, anyone who feels trapped in the suburbs, in a dead-end job, unable to connect with their parents, unable to connect with a community at large, feels as if there is an emotional void inside of them, feels as if the years go by like seconds, or longs for their nostalgic youth when revisiting it only brings disappointment; all can find something explored here to resonate with. Visually dazzling with neon colors, Alex G's intimate songs, and a 90s retro television show representing a means of escape, (plus fantastic performances from Justice Smith and Brigette Lundy-Paine), this is a landmark piece of work.
(1963)
Dir - Roger Corman
Roger Corman's sixth Edgar Allan Poe film for American International Pictures is actually an H.P. Lovecraft adaptation of the novella The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, with the Poe title being shoehorned in there by the distribution company merely to link it to the previous entries. To add insult to injury, Poe's middle name was spelled incorrectly as "Allen" in the titles. Despite such meddling, The Haunted Palace is as good as these films get. The Gothic studio set design is fantastic; you can taste the gloomy atmosphere in an ancient mansion, a cursed village full of fog and deformed people, plus a massive underground lair where one of the Ancient Ones lies in wait to be unleashed upon the earth. Price plays both a diabolical warlock and his distant heir, undergoing possession along the way which changes his entire persona sometimes within a single frame. Lon Chaney Jr. shows up briefly as one of the palace's loyal servants, plus everyone's favorite terrified drunk character actor Elisha Cook Jr. is also present and is as ominously wide-eyed as ever.
(1958)
Dir - Terence Fisher
After the success of the previous year's The Curse of Frankenstein, Hammer logically followed-suit with their next interpretation of Universal's monster films from nearly three decades earlier, Horror of Dracula. Almost every element to Bram Stoker's source material is omitted and/or reworked to afford a brisk run time, but this not only differentiates this version from both the book and its cinematic predecessors, but it also allows for a more sensationalized presentation. The bright-red blood shows up in vivid color, the women have bountiful bosoms, the set design is more elaborate, and best of all, Christopher Lee makes his first of ten screen appearances as the undead count. Always the most solid of thespians, Lee was rarely better than here, only uttering some dialog in the first act yet nevertheless portraying a type of manic blood-lust and sexual pizazz that was both refreshing and exciting for its era. Also, Peter Cushing turns in one of his best and more frequented roles as Dracula's arch nemesis Van Helsing.
(1971)
Dir - Peter Duffell
The third Amicus anthology film and second to be scripted by Robert Bloch, (also joined by an uncredited Russ Jones who famously created Creepy magazine), The House That Dripped Blood sticks to the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" formula of its predecessors while adding in a more deliberate comedy segment for the first time. This would be the closing "The Cloak" which features a delightfully hammy performance from the Third Doctor Jon Pertwee, who portrays a cornball actor that turns into a vampire along with the splendidly-bosomed Ingrid Pitt. Wrapped around a framing story that sets up all of the tales at a single cursed abode, we also have Denholm Elliott as an author who is psychologically tormented by one of his own creations, Peter Cushing being haunted by a wax figure that resembles a lost love, and Christopher Lee trying to keep his creepy daughter on a tight leash for reasons that become understandable. These quickly shot and modestly-budgeted movies always played to the strengths of both their performers and the material, never leaning too hard into the camp, (Pertwee's story notwithstanding), yet adhering to a controlled and eerie atmosphere that is as on-point here as it ever was.
(1954)
Dir - Jack Arnold
Though Universal had abandoned vampires, revitalized corpses, werewolves, mummies, phantoms, and invisible people nearly a decade earlier and their 1954 effort Creature from the Black Lagoon arrived in the sci-fi horror era, this still serves as the studio's last enduring "classic" monster film. The first and best of many notable B-movies that Jack Arnold would be behind the lens on in its entirety, this tale of a misunderstood Gill-man who is discovered in the Amazon has one of the genre's most identifiable musical scores which announces itself at regular intervals with a bang, plus arguably the genre's most notable bathing suite babe in Julia Adams. Guillermo del Toro would take direct inspiration from this over sixty years later in his masterpiece The Shape of Water, (where the Gill-man would successfully get the girl), but its depiction here is equally sympathetic and startling. Performed by two different actors depending on whether or not the creature is shown underwater or on land, it is an excellent piece of design work and no reptilian screen monster outside of Godzilla is as readily identifiable.
(1992)
Dir - Bernard Rose
To-date the most well-realized cinematic adaptation of one of Clive Barker's writings, Candyman enhances the source material as both a grandiose nightmare romance and a twisted fairy tale that is rooted in impoverished urban communities. Barker's short story "The Forbidden" was set in England yet was switched to Chicago's notorious Cabrini-Green public housing area, which provides the perfect backdrop for an urban legend about a black man that was brutally hunted down by a lynch mob in the early 20th century and is now an immortal spirit who slashes people up with a hook arm by way of Bloody Marry bathroom mirror name-calling. Director Bernard Rose indulges in plenty of jump scares, but he also manages to keep the usual amount of 90s horror schlock at bay, crafting a film that is bombastic at times yet brutal in its harrowing subject matter. The always great Tony Todd has become forever associated with the title character and he makes for a mesmerizing and otherworldly figure, plus Virginia Madsen holds her own as the well-meaning college student who willingly goes down such a freaky rabbit hole.
(1973)
Dir - John Hough
Author Richard Matheson and director John Hough join forces to unofficially update Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House with the similarly-structured The Legend of Hell House. One of only two films done by producer James H. Nicholson that he made after leaving American International Pictures, it has the same set up as Jackson's famed novel where psychics, skeptics, and scientists all investigate an infamously haunted mansion in order to crack the life after death code. The low-key electronic musical score by Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson is unique and eerie, plus genre regulars Pamela Franklin, Roddy McDowell, Gayle Hunnicutt, and an uncredited Michael Gough all join the festivities. The star of the show is Hell House itself though; an English mansion, (switched from being in Maine in Matheson's novel), dubbed the "Mount Everest of haunted houses" that was built by a sadistic millionaire whose otherworldly presence still permeates every square inch of the place. Some of the characters find themselves under perverse possession and after several intense experiments, everything culminates in a silly yet memorable showdown where an electromagnetic energy-sucking machine tries to rid the abode once and for all of its evilness.
(1973)
Dir - Douglas Hickox
Vincent Price was a man that consistently knew the assignment better than most and out of his one-hundred-deep filmography, he never seemed to be enjoying himself more than in the delightfully absurd Theatre of Blood. This can be boiled down to Shakespearean Dr. Phibes since once again, Price plays a demented villain that embarks on a hilariously elaborate vendetta against a series of people whom he feels wronged him, this time being pretentious theater critics that refused to grant his scenery-chewing thespian a prestigious award that he felt was rightfully owed. Price is a riot in every frame that he appears, donning disguises, quoting the works of Shakespeare like a psychopathic ham-bone, and brutally doing away with his victims in manners that somehow pertain to the iconic playwright's written words. At one instance, Price is a flamingly gay hair dresser who electrocutes a woman via hair-dryer and at another, he force feeds a girthy gentleman his beloved pet poodles. Macabre and ridiculous, this is camp horror at its finest.
(1985)
Dir - George A. Romero
Closing out his initial Dead Trilogy, George A. Romero upped the violence, made several of the characters cartoonishly deplorable douchebags, and crafted a hopelessly dour note to sail away on. Yet at the same time, Day of the Dead keeps its dark humor and popcorn-munching appeal in check. At this stage in the apocalyptic saga, society has collapsed to the point where any semblance of law, order, or duty is rendered laughable and those who are stuck here doing their jobs are reaching the point where it is time to throw in the towel. Whether that means killing oneself, justifying insane experiments, murdering anyone who does not respect your authority, or saying "fuck all this" and sailing off into the sunset, Romero's movie gives each of these options some screen time. Tom Savini outdoes himself here and the make-up and gore effects alone represent a peak for the genre. Joseph Pilato turns in one of horror's most hilariously over-the-top performances as an military officer who has crossed over into ranting and raving psychopath, plus let us not forget the also insane Richard "Dr. Frankenstein" Liberty and his well-trained zombie Bub, the first Romero zombie to get his own personality which is a fittingly ridiculous concept that suits what the movie is going for.
(1957)
Dir - Terence Fisher
Though they had some moderate success before this, Hammer Studios solidified the genre that they would become most famous for with 1957's The Curse of Frankenstein. The concept was both simple and ingenious; to update some of Universal's earlier monster movies with a contemporary and more exploitative agenda. Still period set, this was shot in color, has splashes of blood and organs, overt sex appeal, and features an over-the-top make-up job for Christopher Lee's monster that is much more garish than that of Boris Karloff's. Better still though, Hammer's Dr. Frankenstein was not merely an ambitious man of science whose god complex flew him too close to the sun. Peter Cushing's Frankenstein is a coldly determined villain who never seems to surrender to any moral compass. It was the best role that Cushing ever received in his long career and one could argue that this was not only the beginning of Hammer's best franchise, but may also be the beginning of the most consistently good franchise in horror's history.
(1990)
Dir - William Peter Blatty
Sadly, this exceptional sequel to William Friedkin's The Exorcist came only all-too-close to becoming a masterpiece in its own right, as the source material's author-turned-director was denied first cut and studio interference botched up his intended vision. That said, The Exorcist III is still far superior than anyone could have hoped for, considering both that the first film has long been recognized as the genre's tour de force and that its John Boorman-helmed sequel has long been recognized as one of the worst in cinema's history. Adapting his own 1983 novel Legion and scoring George C. Scott in the lead who is even better here than usual, (which is saying something), Blatty crafted a profound work that delves into the demonic nature of man's evil and the bleak outcome of senseless torment that is unleashed upon the world. The tagged-on exorcism finale is jarring and schlocky, but everything that happens before that is expertly crafted. This has what many consider to be the best jump scare of all time, numerous unsettling set pieces, a thick and ominous tone, plus fantastic monologue-heavy performances all around.
(2001)
Dir - Kiyoshi Kurosawa
Chillingly atmospheric, Kiyoshi Kurosawa's masterpiece Pulse is a techno-nightmare that paints the picture of disconnected people turning into ghosts before they even die. Though he had been making movies for over two decades at this point, this was his second horror film to experiment with the form and adheres to the ethereal and still tone of both 1997's Cure and 2000's Séance. The cast is minimal and the plot follows two isolated story lines that do not converge until the last act, at which point we only have two characters left that are trying to come to terms with the fact that everyone is morphing into creepy stains on the wall after coming in contact with either a "forbidden room" or some online virus that asks people if they "want to meet a ghost". Kurosawa either uses a sinister violin score or no music at all for long stretches, staging a number of skin-crawling scenes that never adhere to typical J-horror tropes. At the same time, this is the most unique and eerie example of the country's wave of haunted technology films, where the act of logging on and trying to connect with people instead leads to a fatal detachment that slowly withers you away.
(1965)
Dir - Freddie Francis
Amicus Productions' Dr. Terror's House of Horrors got the ball rolling with their contemporary-set anthology films, being the first and damn near best of the seven. Writer and Amicus founder Milton Subotsky originally wrote the stories way back in 1948 after having been inspired by the commercial success of Ealing Studios' Dead of Night. With the framework laid out of a bunch of strangers meeting up in a single location to each have their own supernatural tale spun, Peter Cushing gets to play the mysterious ring-leading title character with fiendishly bushy eyebrows and a German accent to boot. The rest of the cast is rounded out by familiar faces like Christopher Lee, Michael Gough, and a young Donald Sutherland, with Lee in particular turning in a wonderfully smug performance as a pompous art critic with a fragile ego. The segments themselves concern everything from werewolves, to vampires, killer plants, voodoo, and severed hands come back from the dead. Cinematographer-turned Hammer director Freddie Francis would be behind the lens for two more of Amicus' anthology outings, maintaining a solid and ghoulish atmosphere for each one.
(1989)
Dir - Bob Balaban
Just as Charles Laughton did with 1955's Night of the Hunter, actor-turned-director Bob Balaban also crafted his own aggressively stylized nightmare that is shown from the perspective of a child. Darkly comedic and Lynchian in both tone and subject matter, Parents even scored David Lynch's trusted collaborator Angelo Badalamenti, (along with Jonathan Elias), to do the fantastic score. Also, the sound design has an Eraserhead-like ambient hum to it and this along with a relentless stream of distorted perspective shots creates a world that would be terrifying to any kid, let alone any grown-up who is experiencing it though such a youngster's eyes. As the cliched American middle income mom and dad, Randy Quaid and Mary Beth Hurt are unsettling when they are smiling and enjoying themselves around the dinner table or with friends, just as they are when intimidating their pipsqueak quiet son Bryan Madorsky, (in his only role), with more blatantly sinister acts. This is a 1950s suburbia that has a stereotypical outward appearance, yet simultaneously harvests dark secrets the closer that you look.
(1986)
Dir - James Cameron
Doubling as one of the many superb action films from the 1980s as well as one of the finest horror sequels ever made, James Cameron's ambitious Aliens takes nothing away from its landmark predecessor while carving out an iconic reputation all its own. Though it suffered through several delays and the shooting was rough as Cameron clashed regularly with the British crew, this was thankfully still treated as an A-production by 20th Century Fox, as was Ridley Scott's original. Fantastic set design, a host of different xenomorphs to do battle with, a well-rounded cast macho-ing it up to the gills, plus one memorable dialog, action, and suspense scene after the other, this showcased all of Cameron's storytelling and directing strengths. A genre hybrid, the horror elements never take a backseat to the more high-octane ones. We still have a slow-boiled first act, the monsters are still brutal, Sigourney Weaver's Ripley became the ultimate female badass, Paul Reiser is a spineless scumbag, and Bill Paxton ad-libbed his quintessential catch phrase "Game over man!".
(2019)
Dir - Robert Eggers
Proving that he was no one-trick pony for his sophomore effort, filmmaker Robert Eggers pulled off another masterpiece that is not only more ambitious than his perfect debut The Witch, but also considerably singular from it. While both of Eggers' first two movies can be classified as New England folktales, they stylistically and narratively explore different avenues. The Lighthouse features only two actors in speaking parts, both of whom find themselves marooned on an isolated island when the savage weather turns their four-week stint into a much longer and stranger one. Greek mythology and the ravaging effects of toxic masculinity, isolation, identity struggles, and the stubborn allure of forbidden knowledge weave themselves together in a dense story that arrives at a place of pure cinematic madness. Both Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson turn in glorious performances as two men who are overcome by their brutal surroundings and forced companionship, one testing nature and the other respecting it while the hinges come off of both of their psyches. The film is regularly amusing and often times incomprehensible, but it is skillfully deliberate in its approach and begs for revisits in order to unlock its secrets.
(1992)
Dir - Francis Ford Coppola
In the early 1990s, Francis Ford Coppola was overdue for a hit and after the lukewarm reception of his imperfect The Godfather Part III, he decided to interpret one of cinema's most adapted stories in Bram Stoker's Dracula. Easily the most bombastic version of the source material yet done, it is also the most faithful, though various liberties were still taken. Coppola and screenwriter James V. Hart directly link Dracula to Vlad Țepeș, (the infamous Voivode of Wallachia who ruthlessly impaled his enemies during his various reigns in Romania), but they also emphasize the romance angle as the Count succumbs to vampirism by renouncing god after the suicide of his beloved bride. Stylistically feverish, the film famously utilized all in-camera special effects, which enhance the strange and otherworldly tone tenfold, plus the music and costume design are cranked up to eleven. Even with Keanu Reeves doing his much lambasted English accent, the cast is otherwise ideal with Anthony Hopkins, Winona Ryder, Gary Oldman, and even Tom Waits turning in memorable performances that match the film's relentless intensity. This may not be the best Dracula movie, but no Dracula movie is more fun.
(1987)
Dir - Joel Schumacher
Taking a left turn after the Brat Pack-fueled St. Elmo's Fire, director Joel Schumacher made what can fairly be described as the hippest vampire film of the 1980s, The Lost Boys. Originally slated for Richard Donner who allegedly changed the character's ages and tone of screenwriter Janice Fischer and James Jeremias' script into something more adult-oriented and sexy, Schumacher utilizes the Santa Cruz setting as a summer playground for the undead. Keifer Sutherland's mulleted-vampire gang looks like your favorite rock band, Jason Patric is a dreamy Jim Morrison stand-in, the Corey's Haim and Feldman make a hilarious teenage blood-sucking hunter team along with Jamison Newlander, plus who could forget Tim Cappello stealing the show as the greased-up sax player rocking out at a bonfire beach concert? The soundtrack is exclusively made-up of Goth-vibed cover tunes and there is plenty of humor sprinkled around a tale of a sweet single mom who is just trying to get a fresh start with her sons and their eccentric grandpa while vampires set their unholy sites on them.
(1976)
Dir - Narciso Ibáñez Serrador
The second of only two theatrically-released movies from television director Narciso Ibáñez Serrador, Who Can Kill a Child? adapts Juan José Plans' novel El juego de los niños as a sobering and disturbing entry into the creepy kids sublet of genre films. This envisions an ambiguous scenario where those whom we are naturally inclined to protect inexplicably become the ones that we must fear, as an English couple find themselves isolated in an island village that is overrun by malevolent-minded youngsters. No reason is given for such an unsettling scenario, but the film opens with some mondo footage of children suffering at the hands of war-obsessed humans. We can readily identify the implications then and Serrador maintains a stark presentation that takes an uncomfortable amount of time to unleash the story's full menace. Lewis Fiander and Prunella Ransome are excellent as the two terrified, full-grown leads and their ordeal goes off the rails Night of the Living Dead style, so it feels as if we are suffering through their confusion and desperate survival in real time.
(1975)
Dir - Dario Argento
After concluding his "Animal Trilogy" and then taking a brief detour with the comedy The Five Days, Dario Argento returned to his beloved giallo sub-genre with Deep Red; the best movie in that sub-genre, at least in a textbook sense. This represents the first partnership between Argento and the Italian fusion band Goblin who provide a hooky and unsettling score to go along with a convoluted murder mystery that is centered around a sexually deranged killer that is ultimately uncovered by an innocent bystander. All of the motifs are there; the black leather gloves, the protagonist being in the wrong place at the right time, various red herrings, the sensationalized trauma suffered by the murderer, the hilariously gruesome kill scenes, illogical narrative detours, the aforementioned hip rock music, etc. Four giallos in though, Argento proves why he is the master of the form. Suspenseful, ridiculous, and overflowing with style, it is a relentless hoot to watch David Hemmings and Daria Nicolodi, (marking her first of many collaborations with Argento), try and get to the bottom of things and oh yes, you may as well throw a ludicrously creepy dummy on a toy bike in there for good measure.
(1973)
Dir - Roy Ward Baker
After taking the title and various stories from EC Comic's Tales from the Crypt the previous year, Amicus Productions decided to naturally follow it up with The Vault of Horror, a companion piece not just to the previous film but also one that represents a near peak of the studio's steady stream of anthology horror movies. Ironically, none of the vignettes here were adapted from anything in the EC Comics series of its title, all but one originating from Tales from the Crypt, with "The Neat Job" stemming from Shock SuspenStories. This hardly makes a difference since such ghastly stories were largely interchangeable, at least within such a cinematic context as here. Five guys enter an elevator shaft that empties them out into a gentleman's club-styled room with no means of escape, each regaling the other with curious nightmares that they recently remember having. Vampires, an anal-retentive putz with a trophy wife, a shady Caucasian magician in India, a buried alive scheme gone awry, and best of all, Tom Baker reaping vengeance via a voodoo-infused paint brush, there is not a weak segment in the bunch.
(1956)
Dir - Don Siegel
Out of all of the 1950s paranoia-driven genre films, director Don Siegel's The Invasion of the Body Snatchers is the best. This adaptation of Jack Finney's 1954 short story The Body Snatchers could have so easily just been another shoddy drive-in double feature, but the source material itself is so unsettling that all personnel involved thankfully treated it accordingly. Much can be read into a story about an extraterrestrial race overtaking Earth by replacing our bodies when we are at our most vulnerable state, (meaning asleep), thus stripping humans of their humanity so that a species of pure logic and survival can thrive. The Red Scare analogy is both an obvious and accurate one, but this is just as potent of a cautionary tale of people setting into a sense of post-War complacency and convenience at the cost of individual identity. The film has an increasing sense of unease until its main, terrified characters become all too aware of what is going on and resort to desperate measures to maintain their compassion and uniqueness. This was still a time when studio movies were not comfortable enough to send things off on a pessimistic note, but even with its tagged-on bookending segments to make things more crowd-pleasing, it is still as freaky as Golden Era Hollywood sci-fi ever got.
(1934)
Dir - Edgar G. Ulmer
It was inevitable that Universal's break-out horror stars Boris Karloff and Béla Lugosi would appear together in such a movie and the first of these was the bizarre revenge tale The Black Cat. Universal also started a trend here that would continue throughout the genre's entirety of taking Edgar Allan Poe titles and concocting stories around them that have nothing to do with their source material. The one here by director Edgar G. Ulmer and screenwriter Peter Ruric throws PTSD, the occult, ailurophobia, (the fear of cats), torture, necrophilia, and long-standing rivalries together in a ridiculous scenario that is nevertheless played as dry as a bone. This was one of the first talkies to feature an almost continuous musical score and while it takes away from the more intimate "filmed stage play" atmosphere of Universal's earlier horror works, the German Expressionist-style cinematography and Bauhaus set design give this its own off-kilter feel. As the bitter enemies who have each become psychologically ravished by World War I in different ways, Karloff and Lugosi turn in wonderful and unique performances from each other, yet an unmistakable level of stark-raving madness is apparent in both.
(1961)
Dir - Roger Corman
Sticking closely to the formula laid out in their previous collaboration The House of Usher, director Roger Corman, screenwriter Richard Matheson, cinematographer Floyd Crosby, and star Vincent Price do an even better job with the follow-up The Pit and the Pendulum. This was American International Pictures' second Edgar Allan Poe adaptation with such a creative team, (art director Daniel Haller and composer Les Baxter also returning), and the story takes far more liberties with the source material, essentially doing the same thing as the previous year's Usher by placing a small crop of characters in an eccentric person's oppressively creepy family castle. This has some of the best horror eye-candy from the era, with gorgeous Gothic sets, a cobweb-ridden torture chamber, and the memorable set piece where the pendulum of the title swings ominously over John Kerr in a sprawling underground pit. Melodramatic camp handled in a fully-formed manner, this and its predecessor would prove immediately influential overseas, setting the course that Euro-horror movies would follow for decades.
(1933)
Dir - James Whale
Though it was set into motion shorty after the success of 1931's Frankenstein with various different personal either attached or considered, Universal's adaptation of H.G. Wells' 1897 novel The Invisible Man took two more years to reach completion under the guidance of director James Whale. A landmark for its era that fused black comedy, horror, and science fiction together with still-impressive special effects and a bravado performance under heavy guise from screen newcomer Claude Rains, this is rightfully considered amongst the best of the studio's monster movies. The type of monster that Rains' demented scientist Dr. Jack Griffin is becomes so after an experiment unlocks the secret of invisibility, something that unbeknownst to him has the unfortunate side effect of causing gradual megalomaniacal madness. Rains was a scrappy stage actor at this point in his career, but such a craft is used to his advantage since he is forced to emote with wild physical gestures and a proclamatory voice that matches the type of ensuing mania that his character is suffering from.
(2006)
Dir - Guillermo del Toro
After two extraordinary genre works in his native Mexico, filmmaker Guillermo del Toro reached an apex with the dark fairy tale war film Pan's Labyrinth. Arguably his finest movie thus far, it feels like a more elaborate companion piece to 2001's The Devil's Backbone as each story deals directly with both supernatural elements and the hardships of the Spanish Civil War, this one taking place just afterwards where rebels are doing everything in their power to still resist the newly appointed Franco regime. It serves as an ideal backdrop where a mythical underworld can coexist and provide an alluring reprieve for a young girl who is living via harrowing desperation in the real world where her mother has been all but forced to marry a ruthless Civil Guard. The mix of practical and digital effects have rarely been done better and del Toro pulls no punches with some brutal violence and horrifying fantasy sequences, making this light years away from a kid-friendly family epic. It treats is serious subject matter with a level of sincerity that is balanced by its otherworldly escapism.
(2008)
Dir - Tomas Alfredson
Easily the best vampire film to ever come out of Sweden, Tomas Alfredson's Let the Right One In has author John Ajvide Lindqvist adapting his own novel of the same name, which often times is a good idea and certainly so here. Set in a Blackeberg suburb during the winter of 1982, it takes the motif of a lonely and bullied child who finds camaraderie with another child, (or so it would seem), who likewise exists without any worthwhile companionship. If only it were that simple since such togetherness is only made possible by little Kåre Hedebrant making friends with Lina Leandersson's member of the undead, who just happens to have recently moved into the same apartment block. There are numerous metaphors to explore when it comes to vampires and Lindqvist's story here focuses on the loneliness of immortality and how it makes natural bedfellows with that of children who are unable to find union with either their family or their classmates. As the title would suggest, who the "right one" is that is being "let in" can be interpreted different ways. Hedebrant and Leandersson's bonding is both lovely and doomed, just as any partnership can have its ups and downs and two people can do the unthinkable just because the alternative is that much more insufferable.
(1941)
Dir - George Waggner
After 1935's Werewolf of London came and went with a thud, Universal tried again with The Wolf Man and this time delivered another seminal work in their string of monster movies. Forgoing any literary source material, screenwriter Curt Siodmak concocted his own tale that set into place a number of werewolf motifs that would forever be drawn upon. We have the poetic "Even a man who is pure in heart..." decree which is repeated multiple times, silver being deadly to werewolves, the pentagram symbol foretelling doom, and the lycanthropian curse stemming around gypsies which some can see as being metaphoric for a fear of foreigners. In the title role which he would revisit an additional four times throughout his career, Lon Chaney Jr. solidified himself as a horror movie icon and the actor's imposing physical frame yet natural vulnerability was perfectly suited for such an ill-fated character that the audience is meant to sympathize with. Also, Universal's maverick make-up man Jack Pierce concocted his most elaborate creation yet, painstakingly rendering Chaney Jr.unrecognizable under putty and yak hair.
(1985)
Dir - Tom Holland
The finest vampire film of the 1980s out of many, writer/director Tom Holland's debut Fright Night revels in the genre's most fun tropes, crafting a sexy, witty, violent, unsettling, and funny homage that is enhanced by marvelous performances and top-notch production aspects. Holland concocted the script years before and found it to be laugh-out-loud hilarious, and though the humor is readily apparent in the final result, neither the film itself nor the characters in it make fun of what is going on. Chris Sarandon is a wonderful Dracula stand-in, equally charming as he is deadly while chewing on apples and effortlessly seducing women, while William Ragsdale is the perfect underdog teenage adversary, Johnathan Stark plays a Reinfield type muscle as if he is a wise-ass bully, Amanda Bearse undergoes a transformation from girl-next-door to sultry vixen to shark-mouthed monstrosity, Stephen Geoffreys is a dweeb who also goes full-on freaky when becoming an undead toadie, and of course Roddy McDowell's steals the show as the ham-fisted horror host-turned actual vampire killer Peter Vincent.
(1968)
Dir - Ingmar Bergman
A rare work in horror from one of cinema's most renowned filmmakers, Ingmar Bergman's Hour of the Wolf follows up his masterpiece Persona and set the course for his narratively unrelated "Fårö Trilogy", being a more nightmarish examination of those same identity themes. Bergman took inspiration from the 1791 Mozart opera "The Magic Flute", E. T. A. Hoffmann's 1814 novella The Golden Pot, internal conflicts between he and actor/companion Liv Ullmann, his failed marriage, and his own nightmares which blend together vampire, folklore, and werewolf motifs. Being the surrealist that he was, Bergman utilizes such desperate elements to create an immersive experience where Max von Sydow's tortured painter undergoes a string of psychological torments once he and his wife arrive on an island for a type of creative vacation. There is little incidental music and this sparse soundtrack enhances the type of isolation that the characters are thrust into, where their own thoughts and fears are given free reign to overtake them. The movie can be seen as an artist's ego being fragmented before our eyes and ears, making this as autobiographical as anything else in Bergman's regularly intimate filmography.
(1964)
Dir - Roger Corman
The penultimate entry in American International Pictures' Edgar Allan Poe cycle was also their best, The Masque of the Red Death expanding on its source material with a little of Poe's "Hop-Frog" and Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam's "Torture by Hope" thrown in for good measure. Set in a fictional locale in 14th century Europe, it concerns a Satanic Prince who holds off in his castle with various aristocrats against a deadly plague, leaving the peasants to rot and die while kidnapping a few for further torment. As such a Prince, Vincent Price is marvelously odious and this was one the most one-sided and evil character that he ever got to sink his thespian chops into. From the director's chair, Roger Corman and future filmmaker Nicolas Roeg utilize the widescreen frame, elaborate studio sets and costumes, plus bold colors to create a striking sanctuary of hedonism that nevertheless looks lovely against the wicked character's behavior. There are also the usual distorted psychedelic sequences, a fantastic ending, and recognizable supporting players Hazel Court, Jane Asher, Nigel Green, Patrick Magee, and Skip Martin.
(1982)
Dir - George A. Romero
Bringing George A. Romero and Stephen King together was a match made in horror heaven and their resulting collaboration Creepshow stands as the finest anthology horror movie ever made. Stylized as an EC Comics homage with animation, freeze-framed art stills, and brightly colored backgrounds that recall comic book panels, King's screenplay shares a love of such material that is matched by Romero and his crew's like-minded enthusiasm. Tom Savini once again shows why he is the greatest gore and make-up man in the business, with everything from gnarly zombies, to a monstrous primate, to gallons of cockroaches exploding from a corpse, to King himself turning into a moss-man. There is no dip in quality from segment to segment and all of them have a gleefully macabre humor, none more so than the aforementioned "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill". The cast is top-to-bottom recognizable and though this framework would be repeated in several sequels, (and a 2019 Shudder series), it was perfected here.
(1996)
Dir - Robert Rodriguez
A genre mash-up of unequaled proportions, Robert Rodriguez and Quintin Tarantino's From Dusk till Dawn manages to be an exploitation crime Western for its first half, only to abruptly switch to full-on vampire action for its second. Simultaneously, the sensibilities of both renowned B-movie-championing filmmakers remains in sync as the whole thing is hilariously profanity-ridden, full of outrageous set pieces, cartoonishly violent, ultra-sleazy, and lightening-paced. Rodriguez and Tarantino's "everything but the kitchen sink" approach works in spite of itself, as the film is consistently entertaining even for people wondering when all of the blood-suckers are finally going to show up. It is all helped by an ideal cast, with a still-on-ER George Clooney in the lead, Tarantino delivering his best performance in front of the screen as Clooney's foot-loving perverted psycho brother, Cheech Marin playing three different guys, Salma Hayek being sexy as all get-out, and Harvey Keitel, Tom Savini, Danny Trejo, Fred Williamson, and Juliette Lewis all holding their own, (to a point), against or with the demon-like undead.
(1983)
Dir - David Cronenberg
A quintessential David Cronenberg movie that fuses his brand of techo-driven body horror with brain-melting storytelling, Videodrome is an over-the-top head trip that is overflowing with mind control and psycho sexual violence. Cronenberg's highest-budgeted film at this point in his career, it affords some of Rick Baker's best special effects work, including flesh handguns, stomachs that turn into VCRs, and pulsating television sets, to name but a few. Inspired by crossed broadcast signals that he would pick up in Canada from New York as a child, Cronenberg explores what would happen if something both fascinating and dark came over those airwaves. In this case, that proves to be a clandestine network of snuff films and humanity's natural fascination with twisted taboos opens up a rabbit hole for James Wood's sleazy TV president to go down, eventually leading to a surreal conspiracy where his psyche is permanently altered and reality and fantasy become indistinguishable from each other. It is a sensory bombardment for both Woods and the viewer and one that by design, we cannot look away from.
(1979)
Dir - Tobe Hooper
The 1970s produced a slew of made-for-television horror movies and the two-part miniseries Salem's Lot still stands as the finest small-screen work in the genre. Stephen King's voluminous source material made ample fodder for a one-hundred and eighty-three minute cinematic interpretation, and even though one could argue that some of the characters here, (since there are many), could have been omitted to streamline things, it still helps to create a relatable small town atmosphere. In this respect, when a big bad undead guy arrives and starts to systematically pick off the locals, we are well-versed enough in all of the victim's backstories to care about them. Speaking of that big bad undead guy, producer Richard Kobritz and screenwriter Paul Monash wisely chose to change the aristocratic appearance of Kurt Barlow to that of a blue-skinned Nosferatu who makes for a striking and horrifying figure. Besides his renowned debut The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, this was the best film that director Tobe Hooper was ever involved in and he executes a string of memorable and spooky moments that in no way are hindered by the TV presentation.
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